


Scars Fade, Wounds Heal

by AlwaysKeepAiming



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Healing, KITN, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, QitN, Recovery, but only reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKeepAiming/pseuds/AlwaysKeepAiming
Summary: Somedays he wonders if the war will ever truly leave them,ORWhen the war memories are bad, the King turns to his Queen for support
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94





	Scars Fade, Wounds Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my story!
> 
> This is a fluffy piece because that's what I think we all need right now.   
> I own nothing but get inspiration from The White Queen, White Princess, Vikings, and of course, Game of Thrones itself. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Dull sunlight broke through the clouds, masking the courtyard of Winterfell in a light glow. The past few days were nothing short of horrid with constant cloud coverage and light rain. Jon welcomed the sun, tilting his head to the sky and closing his eyes. 

Reopening his eyes, he glanced around the courtyard, watching as people milled about, conducting their various jobs. He had just left the blacksmith where he inspected some of the work and took note of the weapons stocks. While the North remained at peace following the Long Night, it was hard to leave war completely behind him. Old habits die hard after all, nor he did want the North to ever be caught off guard. 

The scars of the war surrounded him. People still mourned their loved ones as a memorial to those lost to the Long Night now stood proudly in one of the courtyards. Physical damage to Winterfell remained as repairs took time and resources. Looking at a demolished wall, Jon could still recall the moments in the fight that caused it to fall. An echo of swords clashing filled his ears and he could still smell burning flesh. 

A tightness filled his chest. He hadn’t noticed it until Ghost bumped into him, forcing him to release the breath he had been holding. Again, he had been transported back to the Long Night. It didn’t happen always, but he found small things could send him back to the darkest memories of his mind. Yes, the war had ended, and peace reigned, but yet Jon wondered if it would ever truly leave them.

“Davos, where is the Queen?” Jon tore his gaze away from the fractured wall to his trusted advisor who was following a few steps behind him. Whenever he found himself slipping into the past, the overwhelming desire to see his wife also took over.

Davos remained his true and loyal friend throughout his reign thus far. He provided good counsel and sound opinion, having found his place amongst the Northerners, despite the wariness many of his countrymen felt about southerners. 

“Hm?” Davos hummed, “The Queen was to be touring the greenhouses and checking in the kitchens this morning.” Often, Jon and Sansa split up their royal duties, taking tasks that fit their strengths, and then providing a unified front for others that required more effort. It had taken some time, trial, and error, but they had really found a good way to rule side by side. 

Jon first went by the kitchen, finding it full of workers preparing for mealtime, but lacked Sansa. Knowing that her tour of the Greenhouses would not take that long, he figured she had already finished her tasks for the morning. That meant there was only one place she could be, and he quickly headed into the keep towards their residency. 

The people of Winterfell stepped to the side as they saw him come down the halls, and across the corridors. Keeping curtesy, as Sansa had told him so many times, a sign of respect for the crown and their position as King and Queen. He found the act annoying and himself undeserving. He did his best to just ignore it, nodding to people to get on with their day. 

His guess proved to be correct as he rounded the corner to the hall with their residency and saw Ser Brienne waiting outside the door. “She’s in there?” He didn’t really need to ask. Ser Brienne rarely left Sansa’s side. Like himself, the feeling of war still haunted her, and he figured it would take time before Ser Brienne truly felt Sansa was safe within Winterfell. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ser Brienne nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to enter the solar quietly. The door to the room off the solar was open, and he could hear soft giggles of voices on beyond the threshold, a stark contrast to the gloom outside. 

He allowed himself the pleasure of sneaking up to the doorway, able to peer into the room where Sansa stood without drawing attention to himself. With no ladies begging her attention or working around her, she looked at peace and happy. Since the times of the war, she had changed her attire from the dresses that looked like armor, to finely made garments, befitting a Queen. Today, she wore a simple brown dress with golden detail to it, and a cloak falling off her shoulders to the ground. Fur draped around her neck, as her red hair had been tied back in a simple braid. 

Looking at Sansa, it was hard to imagine a time of war and fighting. She was a breath of fresh air, filling every room she graced. Her attention fixated on the bundle in her arms as two maids tended to the rooms around her. “He’s grown up so much!” One maid cooed, “And getting more darling by the day.” 

“I think he looks the King!” The other maid chimed, gathering what he deduced to be the day's laundry. “Dark curls and all.”

Jon spoke up from the doorway, “A pity then.” He had hoped his son would share looks with Sansa, she having the only looks worth passing on. However, the inky dark locks and brown eyes stated that the babe had more in common with him. 

All eyes snapped to him, earning a smirk from his wife and bowed heads from the two maids. Even just her gaze calmed him, rooting him in the present over the past. The maids scurried out of the room, sharing looks and giggling slightly. Sansa turned her attention away from him, shifting the young babe. Jon barely caught the end of her eye roll, but he knew it was there. 

“How fairs our son?” Jon crossed the room to her, swallowing his anxiety. The maids had closed the doors behind them, giving the young family privacy. A rarity too good to pass up on. Jon laid a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, smiling down at the two of them. It felt good to hold her, especially as she held their world. 

Sansa traced a finger around the sleeping babe’s face. “Well. He’s strong and healthy. Like his father.” Ghost trotted around them in a protective circle before laying near the door. 

Stifling a scoff, Jon quickly corrected, “Like his mother.” She glanced back at him, laying a hand on his face. 

“How are you? You seem off, my love.” Jon glanced off, staring out the window, back at another building, lacking a roof from the war. As if his mind were an open book, Sansa followed his eyes and knew exactly where his thoughts went. “It’s over Jon, don’t go back.” She whispered, brushing her thumb across the stubble on his cheek.

He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to it, “I know, it’s better now I’m with you.” And it was, Sansa would anchor his mind from slipping, like how he would hold her at night until her nightmares would subdue. The war and their past had damaged them both, but together they tried to fix each other. They had to, for the sake of the North and for their son. 

The babe fidgeted in his sleep, scrunching his nose and letting out a whimper. The attention had been off him for too long and he wanted to be known. From the volume of his lungs, Jon had no doubt his son would grow strong. Sansa shifted him once more, comforting him with the beginning of a Northern lullaby wanting to avoid causing him to cry. 

As if the nursemaid knew his cries were coming, she opened the door, bowing her head, “Shall I tend to him, My Queen?” Her arms already outstretched to take the babe. Jon quickly removed his arm from his wife’s shoulders, watching as their rare family moment faded away. He knew it pained Sansa that she could not be at their son’s side all day. He too felt guilt for passing him off to various nursemaids and midwives. 

However, the lullaby seemed to work as the fussing stopped, so Jon waved off the nursemaid, “No, leave us to our privacy.” He wasn’t ready to let this moment end. Since the babe’s arrival just a few moons ago, he served as a constant reminder that the pain of war was over, and now they could heal. As quickly as the nursemaid appeared, she left and thankfully, closed the door behind her. 

Peace. 

Jon sat in one of the chairs by the window, content to leave their royal duties to the world outside. Ghost let out a snore, letting his guard down as well. Here, the fire roared but wasn’t the primary source of warmth. The love Sansa poured into the lullaby to calm their son was. It filled Jon’s chest with a sense of pride and contentment. 

Glancing back outside the window, workers gathered around the building with no roof, seemingly beginning to patch it up. Another step further from the war, and another project building the future they fought to defend. Healing hasn’t been easy, nor will it become easier, but none the less, they were healing. 

For today, that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The dress Sansa is wearing is inspired by one that Princess Cecily wears in the White Princess


End file.
